


The Saint's Case

by ElectroPoisonWaves



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Akuma Attack, Blind Character, Declarations Of Love, Disability, Drama & Romance, F/M, Falling In Love, First Date, First Kiss, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, LadyNoir - Freeform, Original Character(s), Physical Disability, Reveal, SO MUCH FLUFF, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Soulmates, Villains, adrienette - Freeform, high school sweethearts, love square
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-13
Updated: 2019-03-18
Packaged: 2019-07-11 17:54:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15977450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElectroPoisonWaves/pseuds/ElectroPoisonWaves
Summary: Ladrien, Marichat, Adrienette, LadyNoir: let's get all these ships sailing~~Hawk Moth's got a new MO: build the perfect villain from scratch. To do so, he takes advantage of a long forgotten discovery: The Saint's Case. By granting powers to some one who is physically disabled, not only are they "cured" but their power is stronger than typical akuma victims.Hawk Moth finds his victim in a young blind artist, and turns him into Private Eye, with the power to unmask our heroes without taking their miraculous.Chat Noir and Ladybug are about to be unmasked. And the only way to stop it is by taking back a blind boy's newly found sight.This is going to get messy, fast.Rated T. Expect much fluff, possible implications of other things, typical Y.A.





	1. The Price of a Miracle

**Author's Note:**

> I feel that every good romance needs some sort of build up, so please be patient. 
> 
> A previous version of this story was posted two years ago. I've made lots of changes such that I feel I should post it as a new work. So if it looks familiar, it is not deja vu. It has been updated so that it incorporates story lines from Season 2. 
> 
> Thanks for indulging me, 
> 
> -E

Prologue

Gabriel Agreste stood in front of his wife’s portrait. He had been standing there for a solid hour, at least. His feet were beginning to hurt, but he didn’t budge. He wouldn’t let himself sit down until he came up with a plan. The ache kept him grounded. He needed to figure this out once and for all. His desperation to get Ladybug’s and Chat Noir’s miraculouses so far had been sloppy.

Every single person he threw at them had been easily foiled. Embarrassingly so, actually. The high turnover rate on its own was already hard to deal with. Every single time he had to start afresh—scan Paris for people susceptible to corruption, and who ever knew if they would be even worth his time. It was getting to be extremely frustrating, throwing himself at every person that showed weakness, struggling to appeal to whatever silly whims they had.

He pressed the right tiles on the painting and slipped into his lair. The butterflies scattered about him as he entered, his mind still racing.

If he had conducted his fashion line in the same way he was handling this, his brand would not have come so far. Like with designing patterns, one had to be accurate and calculated. Everything was accounted for—the type of fabric, the thread, the stitch size, the very grain of the fabric itself—all of it determined the integrity of the finished product. So why was he only using scraps when he searched for people to akumatize? He needed to build his own monster.

“Hello master,” Nooroo said in his usual, fearful tin voice.

“Nooroo. What am I doing wrong?” he asked.

“I beg your pardon, master, I—” Gabriel didn’t wait for an answer.

“They are always one step ahead. _Always._ ”

“Perhaps this could be an opportunity to pursue maybe a different goal?” Nooroo suggested. _Like seeing a therapist so maybe you can learn to cope with your unresolved feelings of grief and anger?_ Nooroo thought.

Gabriel pensively looked at Nooroo, who very quickly bobbed away.

“Interesting. So you’re saying that I’m going after the wrong thing?”

Nooroo generally did not have extended conversation with Gabriel. This was already looking to be a record. He couldn’t stomach it.

“Yes, perhaps taking their miraculous is a bit too ambitious?”

“That's it, Nooroo! I’m going after the wrong person! This entire time, I’ve been pursuing them as heroes. If I can find out their civilian identities, this will be a piece of cake.”

Nooroo only stared. “That’s not what I was—”

Gabriel wasn’t listening. Instead, he grabbed the Guardian’s old tome where he had left it previously, this time on a small side table.

“I know it was in here,” he said, feverishly flipping through the old, worn pages. He rested on a page with a picture of a peasant girl sitting on a wagon, her hands held to her ears.

“The Saint’s Case,” he whispered, and jabbed the girl’s face with his index finger.

Nooroo flew closer to the picture. “I can’t read it, master. Only a guardian—"

“You haven’t been telling me things. Don’t think that I haven’t noticed, Nooroo. But neither you, nor the tome hold a monopoly on information about the miraculous.”

He took out his phone and scrolled through his photos, and landed upon the same picture in the book. Nooroo looked closer. “It’s the same picture,” he said.

“Yes, but I happened to find this one in a comprehensive history on the canonization within the Catholic church. You do not need a Guardian to read that.”

Nooroo sunk a little, realization dawning.

“Seem at all familiar?” Gabriel said through his smile.

“Perhaps a tad,” he muttered. The butterflies in the room all stilled.

“Of course it is. One of your previous holders granted powers to a deaf girl. Not only could she then hear, but her power far exceeded that of any of the previous heroes your power made.”

Nooroo looked away. He did remember this.

“When those who are physically disabled are bestowed with power, their recovery and subsequent abilities are beyond those of their ‘able bodied’ counterparts,” Gabriel whispered. “If the girl became a saint...” he said louder this time, startling Nooroo. “Then I can make my own monster.”

Yes! He really _could_ build his villain from scratch. He just needed to find one that fit the basic requirements and shape them right. He would have his own tailor-made villain—one that would be able to key into his two adversary’s weaknesses. He needed to pick out his fabric, size his stitches, and cut the pattern. He adjusted his glasses.

If you played your cards just right, in theory you could even craft the situation upon which a person gained their power… and thus, what power they’d come to.

“Dark wings, rise!” Gabriel said, relishing the sudden panic as the butterflies scattered.

Now he needed to find his canvas onto which he would make his art.

 

Chapter 1  
The Price of a Miracle

 

Tristian had beautiful eyes. In the right shade of light, they looked like softly weathered sea glass. It was one of the first things people noticed about him. It was a shame, really, because he could never see them.

When he was still a child, his mother brought him to the ocean and handed him some sea glass. This was when his father was still around, this time close by, aggressively fussing with the camera. He could hear the camera rewinding film, his father twisting nobs and screwing the lens in. Mother reached out and put something in his hand.

“This is what your eyes look like,” she said, cupping his palms around it. The sea glass was cold, dull, but soft. It was oddly light, and he felt it between his fingers.  
His mother handed him another. He held them before his face, right above his eyes. His mother’s laughter was high pitched and girlish, exploding joy. And hearing her laugh was like an aphrodisiac. He wanted more. He heard the shutter of the camera.      

“Tristian, smile for the camera!” His father said. At that moment, Tristian didn’t have to force the smile. He turned towards his father’s voice. He still held the sea glass to his eyes. It came so naturally, and with the ocean at his back, he felt like he was standing at the edge of a cliff. But he wasn’t scared.

***

“Are you sure you’ll be able to come on your own?” his mother asked, reaching out and pushing a lock of stray brown hair behind his ear.

“It’s so simple, mom. It’s not my first time on the subway,” Tristian replied, batting his mother’s hands away. “Besides, you have to be there early to set up. I’d rather not sit around and wait.”

He could tell his mother was putting lipstick on because he heard her compact click open.

“But it’s different, Tris,” she said.

“I’m 15. Most kids my age go all sorts of places on their own,” he said. He hoped it didn’t come out as naggy as it sounded in his mind.

She shifted uncomfortably in her heels. “Tris—" she began before she her words were broken off by her phone’s angry ring.

She looked down at her phone and bit her lip. “It’s Steven. I’m going to have to take this. But I want you to call me as soon as you step out of the subway, okay? Just straight to the museum and back, like we’ve done thousands of times before.”

“573 steps to the subway. Another 300 to board the train. Easy.” His mother squeezed his hand and quickly left the room.

  
***

  
He set his alarm for 6:30 pm. Being late was simply not an option.

He would meet his mother at the exit to the train station just by the museum. They would walk together to the exhibition and she would take him around. This wasn’t her first time organizing an exhibition with this company but it was Tristian’s first time showing his work.

The first twenty 573 steps to the subway were easy. This was his home. He knew this place. Every single bump in the pavement and all the light poles were thoroughly mapped in his mind. He knew exactly where the bike racks were and how large of a berth to give it. (He could never be sure if there were bikes parked there or not; better be safe than sorry.)

When he finally entered the subway, it was stuffy and hot, and each floor lower felt even hotter. A man gave his seat to Tristian.

Now he only had to wait three stops. It was taking longer than he had remembered, but he calmed himself.

 _It only feels like it’s taking longer because it’s the first time I’m doing it by myself,_ he thought. The same advertisement had played at least six times already. The jingle was going to get stuck into his head.

Third stop. So far so good. He heard the doors slide open, and ambled toward the sound, his cane close by.

He only knew something was wrong when he finally got off the train and stood in the subway. The air felt different, as if he were in a large room instead of the busy one he was used to. Had he miscounted?

 _I took the express train,_ he realized with a punch of anxiety. It skipped the Museum stop and made a constant loop back to the far reaches of the city. He had absolutely no idea where he was.

There was a voice coming from somewhere behind him. Tristian turned, relief flooding his frame.

“Excuse me, I took the wrong stop. Could you perhaps bring me to the—”

“Someone dropped a fox into the pen,” the voice snickered.

“Huh?” Tristian gripped his cane.

The person pushed him and smacked his cane out of his hand. Tristian fell to the ground, where he was easily pinned. Another man rifled through his pockets, pulling out his wallet. Coins spilled out, and the keys to his house jabbed against his leg.

“Where’s your phone?” The voice was gruff. It didn’t waste any words.

“I don’t have one,” Tristian lied.

One of the men reached into Tristian’s jacket pocket and pulled out his phone.

“Fucking liar,” the man said, and he punched Tristian hard into his sea-green eyes.

"That's enough," Tristian heard a woman say. She didn’t sound all that far. Had she just stood by and watched?

"Help," he squeaked out, but if the woman heard him, she didn't act like it.

His eye was pounding and he could taste hot, metallic blood in his mouth and he couldn't breathe out of his nose. His breaths came out ragged.

“Does the kid have any jewelry?” The man fumbled around Tristian’s neck, yanking at the simple leather strap that held a single beaded piece of sea glass. It was one of the same pieces Tristian’s mother had given to him all those years ago.

“Worthless,” another replied.

Tristian lay still until he was absolutely certain they had left. He tasted the salt from his tears with every breath.

 _Why?_ he thought. _Who could do such a thing?_

It was all wrong. This was supposed to be his day: to show his art, sure, but to show that he was far more capable than others expected him to be.

But tucked further inside him was a deep fear: maybe he really wasn’t capable.

***

Hawk Moth waited until the negative emotions set in. It was a sad, frustrated anger, filled with desperation. It would provide plenty of energy for his akuma.

Tristian held his breath for as long as he could. When Hawk Moth spoke, he immediately gasped.

“Hello, Private Eye. My name is Hawk Moth,” he paused, letting his words sink in. “You have been dealt a cruel, cruel hand. Those thugs saw your vulnerability and took advantage of you." His voice was like silk, slipping into his skull and disappearing just as softly.

“What do you want?” Tristian said, repulsed at the sound of his soggy, congested voice.

“I can make you a hero. You can prove that you are more than just capable-- that you are _strong_. I will grant you the power of deep sight. You can change the cesspool Paris has turned into and finally live the life you’ve always wanted. But in return, you must do something for me.”

Warmth fell over Tristian like a wave. It immediately left him feeling colder than before.

“Of course,” Tristian heard himself say. “I’m all yours, Hawk Moth.”

It was bright then. The brightness made his eyes prickle, and he wiped away the tears that were now forming. There was so much around him suddenly and he couldn’t make sense of it.

He looked up and saw the bright neon light of a subway map. A face was dimly reflected in its glass. The face was dirty, and the nose covered in blood that coated the lips. He lifted his hand out toward the glass.

Tristian took a deep breath. He was looking at himself.

He saw his eyes for the first time and wanted to cry. He released his grip on his necklace and started intently. His mother said his eyes were the color of sea glass. But the little shard around his neck was significantly darker, almost black. It was definitely not the same color of his light eyes.

***

Marinette sat back in her chair and listened to Alya, who was ruminating on some of her new Hawk Moth theories.

“I mean, no akumas for what has it been, like two weeks? What is up with that?” Alya said. “Not that I want akuma attacks. But it’s weird, you know? It seems like forever since we have seen Ladybug in action.”

“I think it’s been nice,” Marinette replied, setting aside the catalog she had been flipping through. “Besides, didn’t Ladybug and Chat Noir help a cat out of a tree recently?”

Alya sighed. “Yes, they did. It was very cute, not gonna lie.” She opened her phone’s gallery and flipped through the photos from that event.

“I know what you’re getting at, though, Alya. Why have the akumas stopped?”

This was something that had been keeping her up at night.

“Do you think Hawk Moth’s miraculous was stolen?” Alya asked. “Maybe there was some sort of secret ambush at his lair.”

“No, I’m sure Ladybug and Chat Noir would’ve announced that,” Marinette said. She looked to where she left her purse. Tikki doubtless was inside, listening closely.

She wished she could contact Chat Noir and ask him what he thought. The problem was that their phones were only connected when they were transformed.

With very few emergencies, there was less opportunity to interact.

 _It’s sad to think that only bad events connect us,_ she thought. _I actually miss the cat._

When did Chat Noir stop annoying her to pieces?


	2. Private Eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I indent paragraphs. I swear to all that is good. But why must AO3 eat all my formatting? T-T

Chapter 2: Private Eye

Tristian sat on a hard waiting room chair. He kept his eyes down, only staring at his hands.

He had walked to the museum after the episode in the subway, still feeling a little bit uncoordinated and shaky, in a haze. The museum staff recognized him and let him in. He only recognized his mother by her voice. He met her eyes and she immediately stopped, dropping her phone mid-call.

What a sight he must’ve been.

And here he was in the hospital, the last place he needed to be, being paraded around and ogled at by doctors. They all asked how it happened, and Tristian shook his head, insisting he didn’t know. He could feel Hawk Moth’s glare on him in much the same way a person knows they are being watched.

Now they were putting on a press conference to celebrate his discharge from the hospital. There would be much fanfare and a visit from the mayor, who had donated the money to build the children’s wing of the university hospital. It now proudly boasted his name.

A doctor approached Tristian as he sat waiting.  “My name is Dr. Chenot,” he began. “I head the trauma ward and the department for public relations. Thankfully, today I have been tasked with sharing your good news with the public,” he said, almost triumphantly. He was a tall, skinny man with thinning black hair.

He reached out to shake Tristian’s hand. Tristian took it and met the doctor’s eyes. In that brief moment, he was catapulted into the doctor’s life like someone watching a stop-motion animation.

It was morning. He had a single cup of coffee for breakfast with two packets of sugar, no cream. He parked his car in his colleague’s spot. Tiny, useless details flooded into Tristian’s mind as a serious of pictures shown in rapid succession.

               Just as suddenly, it stopped. Tristian was thrown back into his own body, into his own thoughts and it left him with an overpowering feeling of vertigo, as if he had been spinning in circles and had suddenly stopped.

               The doctor blinked and looked a little taken aback. He quickly cleared his throat and looked away.

_What just happened?_ Tristian thought, gripping the arms of the chair he sat in.

The doctor looked a little unsettled as well. His glasses had fallen to nearly the end of his sharp, pointed nose.

“I best be going now,” he said, struggling to suppress his surprise. He walked towards the doors, stopping to glance at Tristian one last time as he pushed through the double doors to the hallway, an alarmed, wary look on his face.

Hawk Moth cut in, nearly causing Tristian to fall out of his chair.

“You see your usefulness now, right?” Hawk Moth spoke.

Tristian looked around himself to make sure he was alone.

“I will start today,” he said.

***

 “Don’t be bemused, it’s just the news,” Nadja said as the camera panned in. “Reporting live from the Bourgeois Children’s Hospital with an exciting development.”

Marinette put down her sketchpad and looked up at the TV. Tikki flew up beside her.

“A blind Parisian boy suddenly regains the ability to see, leaving doctors baffled. We are live at the very hospital where he is being discharged today. We are currently waiting for the Mayor, a proud supporter of the Bourgeois Children’s Hospital, to make an appearance at this special event,” Nadja finished, sweeping her right arm out to motion to the stage now set up behind her.

There were balloons situated on opposite sides of a large banner which framed the stage perfectly. A steady stream of hospital staff mingled below the stage, occasionally turning to look curiously at the camera. The stage was barren except for a single podium bearing the hospital’s logo.

The scene changed to a pre-recorded statement from a boy with soft green eyes that were nearly lost under a tangle of messy brown hair. He stood in the shade of the hospital’s gazebo, Nadja to his right, holding the microphone towards him.

“So, Tristian, our miracle boy, I want to hear it from you. How did this happen?”

“It’s a weird sort of miracle. Some guy punched me and then his cronies took my phone. When they left, I got up and suddenly everything was bright. I could see.”

 “Oh my, that sounds like quite the fright.”

He shrugged. Looking back on it, it seemed like another life. He had simply been Tristian then. Now he was a secret agent of sorts. He was Private Eye.

He looked directly into the camera.

“What was the first thing you saw?” Nadja raised the microphone closer to him.

“I saw my reflection in the glass of the subway map,” he said.

“Just like that? Sounds miraculous!” Nadja smiled.

“I suppose it is,” he said, but at that point he was looking off into the distance.

Tikki flew up close to the screen, squinting her eyes to look. “There is something weird about his eyes,” she mumbled. Marinette had been fiddling with her pencil.

The scene returned to the live view of Nadja at the hospital.

“The conference has been delayed for some time now. We are currently waiting on the mayor’s arrival,” she said. “Any minute now.” She turned to look behind her before glancing down at her watch.  

Marinette was almost tempted to change the channel—after all, wherever the mayor went, Chloe wasn’t far behind. Instead she paused.

“The mayor is late?” Marinette said, mostly to herself. “That is very out of character for him. He would never show up late to something that has his name attached to it,” she muttered.

“Maybe you should go?” Tikki asked, floating up before Marinette’s eyes.

Marinette looked back at the television. She had a bad feeling about all of this. 

            There was an obnoxious amount of yellow pacing in the background. Definitely Chloe. The camera panned out to give a better look at the situation.

               Chloe stopped pacing when she saw the camera land on her.

               “Daddykins, please answer your phone! I’ve been stuck here for like, at least three hours, and my phone is running out of battery! And none of the people here have a charger that will work with my newest upgrade!” Chloe’s face held an exaggerated pout.

            No, this definitely was not right. Marinette pursed her lips, deep in thought. “The mayor would not disappear on Chloe,” she whispered.

               “This may be Hawk Moth. It’s worth checking out,” Tikki said.

               Marinette nodded. “I have a bad feeling about all of this.” She twirled around in her chair, and in a single, smooth movement stood up.

              “Tikki, spots on!”

***

Chat Noir saw her approach. She was hard to miss. It could have been the bright red spandex, or it could have been the way she moved. Either way, he couldn’t stop staring.

He quickly elongated his baton so that he was at her level as she came crashing onto the roof. He had decided a while ago that he was going to play it cool. He had rehearsed their reunion of sorts in his head. _Oh hey, Ladybug. What a funny coincidence. I just happened to be here, you know, cat on the prowl and—_

That plan was immediately scrapped.

“My lady! Wait!” he called out to her. She whipped her head around to look at him, and started to slide down an eave.

Chat Noir caught her by the waist. Their faces met and their eyes locked. He was close enough that he could smell her perfume.

_Cookies?_ he thought, taking another sniff. _Vanilla?_

She froze.

He immediately let her go and stepped away. Perhaps the smelling part was too much. Sometimes his cat side came out too strong.

“Sorry. I have a cat’s nose. You smell like a bakery.”

Ladybug smiled. “I’ll take that as a compliment. For the record, you smell like _Adrien_.”

Chat Noir froze. “What?”

“You know, _Adrien: The Fragrance_ ,” she said. “That’s definitely a compliment.”

Chat Noir relaxed. He smiled mischievously and leaned towards Ladybug. “Oh? Do you like it?”

Was Ladybug blushing? It was hard to tell under her mask, which was already red.

Ladybug averted her gaze. Chat Noir had been _so_ close, only for a second, really, but for some reason her stomach had flipped. It didn’t feel bad. It felt safe. It felt right. But mostly, it felt confusing.

“I’m sorry. I made you uncomfortable, didn’t I? You can say it.” Chat Noir quickly backtracked.

Ladybug put her hand on his shoulder. “No, you didn’t.”

She turned her head to the side, casually looking up into Chat Noir’s eyes. Yep, she had definitely been blushing.

She brushed her bangs back, a nervous tick that she had recently developed. She jokingly bumped against Chat Noir.

“You know, I really missed you,” she said over his shoulder.

_Purr._

“Wait. Are you _purring_?” she said, putting her ear closer to his chest. Chat Noir stood up perfectly straight.

“Oh, oops, my phone is vibrating. My bad,” he said quickly.

_Keep cool. Don’t say something stupid,_ Chat Noir thought.

Ladybug laughed. “That’s a shame, because it was actually kind of cute.”

Was Ladybug flirting?

Before he could wrap his head around this, she quickly threw her yoyo. It wrapped around a chimney in the distance.

“Let’s go find the mayor,” she said, and she leaped off the roof.

“Wait!” he called after her.


	3. The Baker's Daughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chloe's phone is almost out of battery. Things are getting tense.
> 
> Oh and also the reveal.

Chapter 3: The Baker’s Daughter

               “Are you at all disappointed that the mayor did not show up?” Nadja asked.

               “I’m not going to lie,” he said, shrugging. “I really was looking forward to meeting him. But I’m sure that Mr. Bourgeois has his reasons.” He turned and looked away, past the camera, towards Ladybug and Chat Noir, who had just arrived.

“But on the plus side, Ladybug and Chat Noir have shown up. I’ve always wanted to meet them, so things are already looking up.” He gave a small smile, and a dimple appeared on his left cheek.

Chat Noir bowed to the camera while Ladybug gave a small wave before turning to Tristian.

               “Maybe it was a mistake,” Chat Noir said, looking at the boy closely. “Maybe Mr. Bourgeois legitimately had some sort of emergency—”

               “And neglected to tell everyone? Even his daughter, Chloe?” Ladybug said, looking skeptically at Chat Noir. “I doubt it. Don’t get distracted because the kid is cute,” she said.

               Chat Noir nearly choked. “What? You find him cute? I don’t get it. What has he got that I don’t? Brown hair? Because I can easily change that—”

               “Oh, my, God. Chat. I mean cute as in like… Teddy bear cute or something. Don’t go dyeing your hair.”

               Chat Noir ran his hands through his thick, messy blonde locks with something akin to a self-satisfied look on his face. “So you like it?”

               _Why does he have to do this now?_ Ladybug thought angrily. _And to think I even briefly missed him!_

            Ladybug looked closely at Tristian. He did have pretty eyes, but there was something unnatural about them. The pupils had a faint, glowing purple ring about them. It almost looked like he was wearing contacts.

               “Tristian Delamar,” he said. He put out his right hand to shake.

               Ladybug reached out to shake his. She awkwardly realized half way there that she had her yoyo in her hand. It was too late to back down now without appearing rude. He shook her hand all the same, staring at the yoyo that was smack in the middle.

               “Sorry about that, Tristian. I’m still kind of new to this whole superhero biz,” she said.

               “That’s okay,” Tristian replied. “I’m new to all of this, too.” He was very pragmatic.

               Chat Noir quickly pushed through, his baton on his neck, with his hands draped over it, in a casual, haphazard way.

               “So, have your eyes always been like that?” he asked.

              “Chat—” Ladybug started, before she was cut off.

             “Like what?” Tristian asked.

“With that purple rim?” Chat Noir bent closer.

“I don’t think so. Granted, I couldn’t see before.”

“Oh. Right,” Chat Noir backed off. “Kinda forgot that part.”

Tristian put his hands in his pockets.

 _Well, now this is awkward,_ Ladybug thought. Furthermore, she was at a complete loss. If this was an akuma attack, normally the villain would have let themselves be known by now.

“Are you not going to introduce yourself?” Tristian asked, putting out his hand to shake.

Chloe pushed past Tristian, tragically and dramatically latching onto Ladybug.

“Ugh, Ladybug! What took you so long?” Chloe wailed.

Ladybug sighed.

“Well, whatever, I forgive you,” Chloe said. “Because I’m cool like that. But like, I can’t live without Daddykins. He is my only means of income. You _have_ to find him.”

Tristian tapped Chloe’s shoulder. “Hi,” he said.

“What’s up with you?” she scoffed, casually flipping her ponytail.

“I could ask you the very same question,” Tristian replied. That dimple emerged again when he smiled. His eyes crinkled a bit at the sides. He was holding a laugh.

Ladybug snorted. This kid actually seemed kind of cool. Perhaps she really had overreacted. Then again, Tikki seemed suspicious of him and this situation. Her gut instinct was generally spot on.

“Um, ex _cu_ se you,” Chloe huffed at Tristian.

Chat Noir interrupted the fuss. “Chloe, before we get off track, do you have any idea where your dad’s phone is?”

“I don’t know. But I’ve called it over and over and I would’ve heard it if it was close by.”

“Unless, of course, it was on silent,” Ladybug said. “Which would seem likely if he was about to make a TV appearance and didn’t want to be interrupted.”

“Where did you last see your father?” Chat Noir continued.

Chloe paused, looking down at her nails. “Umm… I think maybe in the Press Room?”

“Take us there,” Ladybug said.

Chloe pushed through the stream of people, making a bee line straight for the door immediately off the stage where the podium still sat, with the bright lights still pointing directly at it.

They walked into a room filled with folding tables. There were several stacks of boxes in the far corner full of complementary promotional goodies, like T-shirts and keychains with the hospital’s logo on it. One of the boxes had been opened, and some of the lanyards inside hung out.

Chat Noir grabbed a stress ball and squeezed it in his palm.

“He was sitting here, when I last saw him. He even left his plate of cheese and crackers unfinished.” She motioned to the abandoned plate.

“Try calling his phone again,” Chat Noir said.

“There’s no point. I already have like fifty something times,” Chloe whined.

“Just do it, Chloe,” Ladybug sighed. Chat Noir cast a look at her. He had always been suspicious of her extreme dislike and little patience for Chloe.

Chloe called her father’s phone again, showing Ladybug and Chat Noir her screen as the phone rang.

Chat Noir immediately tensed. “Something’s buzzing,” he said, one of his cat ears twitching.

“Seriously? You can hear that?” Ladybug answered, completely astonished.

Chat Noir moved about the room, slowly heading toward a solitary table with a long, oversized tablecloth sitting on it.

He pushed at the table and moved the table cloth to the side. The table cloth hung weirdly, as if sitting on something unseen. The fold made it look partly like it was floating.

Chat Noir’s hands hit something soft. There was nothing there.

Ladybug hurried close. It looked like Chat Noir was doing an amazing job as a mime, the way he handled an item he couldn’t even see.

“This is something like the Mime,” Ladybug said, now crouching close to Chat Noir. “You know, Mylene’s father.”

“You think it’s his work?”

“It’s not like his usual.”

There were some muffled noises coming from under the table.

“Mmmph!” the table said.

“The table said something!” Chat Noir said. “Honestly, I’m not joking. And if I were, I that would’ve been one of my worst yet.”

“I think the Mayor is under the table. But invisible… somehow,” Ladybug whispered, mainly to herself.  At this point, anything seemed possible.

Chat Noir leaned close. “What’s that?” he asked. His face was mere inches from hers.

Suddenly she felt insecure. She moved a little out of Chat Noir’s way. 

They both yelped when the Mayor suddenly reappeared in the very spot that had been empty before. In panic Chat Noir had launched the stress ball straight at the mayor. Chat Noir’s belt tail went straight up. If it had fur, doubtless it would’ve fluffed up.

The Mayor was tied up, the very sash he wore across his chest stuffed into his mouth. His feet and hands were tightly bound behind him with lanyards taken from one of the boxes of free stuff.

He wiggled and grunted when he realized he had been seen.

Chat Noir tore at the knots with his claws. Ladybug pulled the sash out of the Mayor’s mouth. He let out a long breath, but before he could talk, he immediately froze, then shook his head. He looked over Ladybug’s shoulder with terror.

Ladybug turned. Tristian was by the door, Chloe held back by a long, thin sword. Chat Noir hesitated. The sword looked familiar. He was certain he had seen it somewhere… He certainly had never fought with a real sword before. His fencing classes were never meant to be for actual combat.

Tristian’s eyes no longer had the glowing purple rim. He certainly did not look like the typical villain. Except for the sword, he looked almost normal.

 _Don’t be hasty, Tristian,_ Hawk Moth said directly into his mind. _Stick to the plan and we can have this finished in no time at all._

Tristian only squared his shoulders and took a deep breath. He didn’t outwardly reply.

“Give me your miraculouses,” he said.

With this, he would rewrite that traumatic moment in his past. In it, he would not be the victim. Still, he could not completely ignore the twinge of guilt in his gut.

Chat Noir immediately extended his baton so it reached backward, preparing to dislodge the sword from its precarious position by Chloe’s neck. Suddenly the sword wasn’t there. Chat Noir immediately backtracked. His baton could easily smash into Chloe if the sword wasn’t there to block it. He fell to the side. Where had the sword gone?

Tristian’s eyes were glowing purple again. His posture hadn’t changed, and his hands still held something in their grip. Had _he_ made the sword invisible? Of course. It _had_ to be the sword.

“My hair!” Chloe squealed.

Tristian pushed Chloe to the side and flew at Chat Noir. Hawk Moth had warned him about Chat Noir’s baton. He would have to be careful.

All the same, Chat Noir would probably be the easiest to tackle first. If he could reach his hand and shake it, he could slip the ring off. Even if that didn’t work, he would still be able to gleam some information about Chat Noir’s identity. It was all about the right timing.

Ladybug launched her yoyo at Tristian, latching onto his arm. She reeled him toward her. He fought, the backs of his rubber sneakers squeaking loudly on the polished wood floor.

He wasn’t prepared. He didn’t have enough experience with his new power—and more importantly, new world—so he was at a severe disadvantage.

The sword slipped out of his hands and thudded into a table, still invisible. A slit appeared in the table indicating where his sword had stuck.

Tristian released the invisibility. The sword reappeared in its entirety.

Instantly, his eyes lost that glow. Ladybug understood.

“When his eyes are glowing purple, that means he’s turned something invisible!” she yelled out.

 _Hawk Moth was right about her,_ Tristian thought. _She catches on quick._

His eyes immediately lit up. Ladybug’s yoyo vanished.

In her panic she dropped her yoyo. She heard it clatter to the floor somewhere by her feet. She kicked her feet around, desperate to find it.

Tristian pulled the yoyo towards himself. She still had its string wrapped around her middle finger, but this was useless. Now she was dragging around excess baggage that could eventually trip her if she wasn’t careful. She was effectively weaponless.

Chat Noir launched himself to Ladybug’s aid. In a brief moment, Chat Noir’s baton turned invisible. Just as it did so, Ladybug’s yoyo reappeared.

 _Well, at least he can only make things invisible one at a time,_ Ladybug thought. _I can probably work with that._

Chat Noir had his hand on the button to elongate the baton. It clattered into the tables around him, knocking over a small stack of pocket first aid kits and lodging itself precariously amongst the boxes, still invisible and long. If he wasn’t careful, he could dislodge a box and the others would fall, and an avalanche of merchandise would bury them.

“We need to find his akuma!” Ladybug yelled. There wasn’t anything about him that stood out. By all means he looked normal.

               The Mayor had climbed out from under the table and ran towards his daughter. Tristian did nothing to stop them. Chloe hugged her father and cried.

“Escape now!” Ladybug yelled to them. “We’ll come out—I promise! Just get to safety!”

            To Chloe’s credit, she was fast. She grabbed her father’s hand and pulled him to the door. Tristian simply watched them go.

               Chat Noir was still frantically looking for his baton, like a cat chasing after an elusive red dot. He was now completely open. He would have to make do with his hands for the time being, at least until Tristian released the invisibility.

               Tristian now had Ladybug’s yoyo visibly in his grip. The string was still attached to her finger, effectively leashing her to him. She pulled at it, gripping at the string.

Tristian reached out and grabbed the baton and with a quick jerk, he knocked over a stack of boxes. Chat Noir quickly dashed out of the way, but his tail was not so quick; he was now pinned in place. Chat fussed with his belt and realized with a sick foreboding that the only way he could take his belt off was if he un-looped it from the end… which was stuck under a box filled with who knows what.

“Chat!” Ladybug called out. She went to run to him. Tristian pulled back on the yoyo string and she fell back. Tristian pushed the length of the baton just behind her ankle, and as she stepped back, she fell, hard. It was an unsettling thump, dead weight falling.

The pain was already blossoming in her head. This was going to turn into a killer headache. She had bit her tongue when her head hit the floor. She could taste blood, metallic and sweet. Turning away from Tristian, she spat out it out. Just moving made her feel dizzy.

Chat Noir yelled out, his voice cracking with the emotion.

Tristian deftly pinned her in place with the baton over her neck. He bent closer to her and reached out, pushing aside her hair to take her earrings. He paused as he touched the first one, looking directly into Ladybug’s eyes.

Hawk Moth yelled into Tristian’s mind. _Just do it! Do not hesitate!_

Ladybug struggled against the baton, desperately shaking her head back and forth, hoping to dislodge him. The baton was tight against her windpipe, and her head was already roaring with the pain from the fall. She could not afford to expend any more energy or breath wriggling and struggling.

 _Think_ , Ladybug said.

If she used her Lucky Charm, perhaps something would fly out and hit Tristian on the head? Granted, it would harm her, too, but it was better than losing her miraculous.

Chat Noir struggled with his belt. His hands kept fumbling in his frustration and panic.

“Lucky Charm!” Ladybug called out with the last of her breath.

Something shimmered and fell onto Tristian’s head, and settled around his neck.

It was a simple necklace styled with a ladybug pendant. It thumped hard against something around Tristian’s neck. Was he wearing something else under his neatly pressed collar? Ladybug stared.

Tristian glanced down at the necklace. “Thanks,” he said. “It will match my new pair of earrings.”

 _Do it now!_ Hawk Moth screamed, his throat scratching with the emphasis.

A surge of panic went through Chat Noir like a lightning bolt. This was it. If he didn’t do something now, Ladybug would never be safe. All that they had been protecting would be lost.

               “No!” The cry ripped through his throat, desperate and torn. The hopelessness that threatened to consume him was actually painful. He felt it as a tight, sharp lump in his throat. It would suffocate him.

               “Cataclysm!” he yelled, and felt the power surge into his hand. He sprang at Tristian, animal-like with rage, pulling at the weight pinning him back.

Tristian’s hands were way too close to Ladybug. He was pushing the hair out of the way, fingers struggling with the earring’s clasp.

Chat Noir slammed his hand into the hardwood floor. It crumpled and splintered away, and spread like fire to the rest of the floor. They all fell a step or two to the concrete foundation of the building. Tristian lost his grip of baton and fell to his side. Chat Noir’s baton audibly clattered and rolled away.

               There was a mess of rubble about them. The boxes had fallen over, spilling their contents everywhere. The electrical wiring around the lower walls had been exposed. Dust hung heavy in the air.

            Chat’s heart was still pounding, and the flush of panic he felt had not dissipated. Ladybug would likely would’ve been hurt from this fall, to say nothing of her earlier injuries. He had been rash and stupid.

            Ladybug’s miraculous beeped from somewhere amongst the pile of fundraising t-shirts. Chat Noir felt a small twinge of hope.

            Tristian staggered, putting his hands out to keep balance. His eyes were no longer glowing purple. He turned and gave out a deep, rattling cough.

               Chat Noir spotted his baton as it shined in the light, stuck amongst an avalanche of customized stress balls. He quickly lunged forward and grabbed it, struggling to maintain his balance.

            They still hadn’t found the akuma, and it looked like they would have to withdraw from this battle. Ladybug stood up and slowly brushed the dust from her costume.

Chat Noir’s miraculous beeped. Four minutes.

            Tristian crumpled to the ground, dust rising around him. He held his side and coughed.

            Ladybug slowly approached Tristian. He looked up at her, his eyes rimmed red, tears streaking down his dust-covered face. His cheeks looked red, as if he hadn’t been breathing.

            _Get up! Why don’t you listen to me? Are you deaf, too?_ Hawk Moth sneered into Tristian’s mind.

            He squeezed his eyes closed, willing Hawk Moth’s voice to stop.            

            For a brief moment Ladybug remembered the fear and sadness on Tristian’s face. He had paused when he had the opportunity to take her miraculous. Now he simply looked scared.

             She held out her hand. Despite everything, Tristian was still a victim in this as well, a pawn in Hawk Moth’s plan.

Tristian looked at her, and then took it.

             Suddenly, snippets of her last day came rolling out of her, like pages in a flip book. There was her talking with Tikki, her placing cookies on a rack in her parent’s bakery. There was her in school, writing her name on the top corner of the paper—

               Hawk Moth was quick to yell. _Marinette! Her name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng! Just a silly little baker’s daughter!_

               Immediately she let go. She almost fell over, but steadied herself. “What… what was that?” she said between gasps.

               Chat Noir rushed to her side and held her.

               “Careful—don’t shake his hand. He can see into your mind or… something like that.”

               Tristian looked up at her and smiled. It was like he had become a completely different person.

            _You have redeemed yourself, Private Eye. You have done better than the others,_ Hawkmoth spoke into Tristian’s mind.

            He wiped the tears from his eyes, straightened his back, and brushed the messy hair out of his face.

“Hello, Marinette. My name is Private Eye,” he said, turning to look her in the eye.

             She immediately froze.

            “W-what?” she stuttered. _Did he say Marinette?_

            He knew. He had seen it all, and if he had seen it, Hawk Moth had, too. The gig was up.

“ _Marinette?_ ” Chat Noir said, looking curiously between Ladybug and Tristian. Marinette was not that common of a name. He stood looking at her. Was it _his_ Marinette?

“What do you mean…?” Chat Noir turned to look back at Tristian.

“She’s just a baker’s daughter,” he said, his voice nearly a whisper. His body was already pushed to its limit. If he stood around any longer, he would collapse.

              For a brief moment, Tristian’s eyes glowed an iridescent purple, and suddenly he vanished. Chat Noir could hear him staggering away. He didn’t move to chase after him.

            Ladybug held her head with a hand, her eyes squeezed tight.

It wasn’t until the sound of his footsteps disappeared that they truly knew he was gone.

What had just happened?

Ladybug’s miraculous chirped a warning, jarring them back to reality.

Chat Noir’s chirped back.

            “Chat, you should go. Your ring—”  

“You can’t ask me to leave you,” he said, reaching out to her. “You know I can’t do that.”

She smiled at him. Feeling sick, she sat down on the pile of t-shirts. Her head was throbbing. She wasn’t going to fight him.

“Marinette?” Chat Noir said.

Ladybug looked at him. “ _Marinette_ ,” he said again, in such a tone that sounded a tinge bit insecure and hopeful, full of awe.

He walked closer to her. She didn’t push him away. His presence was decidedly reassuring and comfortably familiar.

“Marinette.” This time his voice was satisfied and suddenly confident. He held his hand out to her.

She gingerly took it, and met his eyes. Her miraculous gave a final beep, and she felt the magic rush her as it fell, like the clock striking midnight, the enchantment unraveling.

Chat Noir gently kissed the back of her hand, and she felt something in her chest soar. What was that?

Marinette stared at him as his miraculous gave its final beep, and his mask fell away. The change came upon him like a wave returning to the sea, so effortless and natural. He looked up at her from underneath his wavy blonde hair.

Her brain could not keep up with her heart. It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense anymore.

Adrien? No, it wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be.

He gave a small smile, and she instantly recognized it: the very same one from that rainy day so long ago, when he gave her the umbrella and then stood in the rain. Yes, it was that soft, gentle smile that started everything.

“Adrien,” she whispered. _It really is you._

His smile brightened instantly. “My lady.”

She reached out to touch his face, playing with the hair that fell onto his face, her thumb gently sliding over his cheek, stopping at the corner of his lips. He was warm and real.

He leaned into her touch and covered her hand in his. He slowly brought her hand back to his lips. The kiss brought forth a surge of warmth from her belly that left her feeling numb.

The feeling was interrupted when she was distracted by some movement she saw from the corner of her eye. Was that a floating black cat?

               “Oh? What’s this?” Plagg zoomed across the disheveled room and found the mayor’s plate of crackers and cheese, which had now spilled all over the table. He sniffed audibly, and his whiskers twitched.

“If I had standards, I wouldn’t eat these because they’re dirty.”

He paused thoughtfully.

“Thankfully, I don’t.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me too plagg, me too


	4. Something New

Chapter 4: Something New

 “Ugh, really, Plagg?” Adrien said, turning to look at his kwami.

“What? I’m hungry.”

“He has a point, Plagg. Don’t you have any standards?” Tikki said. “That’s gross.”

Adrien looked at the floating red kwami.

“I’m Tikki, Marinette’s kwami,” Tikki said, waving. She opened the clasp to Marinette’s purse and took out a cookie that appeared to be larger than herself.

            Marinette hurriedly wiped the dust from her pants and fixed her hair as Adrien watched Tikki struggle with the cookie.

            Marinette took in a deep breath.  

             “Adrien,” Marinette began, drawing his attention back to her. “I’m so sorry for everything—for all the times I dropped you, for that one time I accidentally swung you into a light pole, the other time I attached you to a kite—oh my gosh I feel so stupid.”

               Adrien shrugged. “Sort of funny that I fell in love with you despite all that,” he said, looking away a bit sheepishly.

            Marinette froze. “Wha-what?” she stuttered.

Adrien was scratching his neck with one hand. It looked to be a nervous tic. Was he… _embarrassed_? It didn’t seem possible that Adrien could get even more attractive, but when he blushed and looked away, Marinette felt her mind turn to mush.  

He immediately looked up at her. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I know there already is a boy in your life. I don’t want to get in between that. You don’t have to answer.”

Marinette stood completely still, while her mind frantically went through the sudden onslaught of information. Her heart was pounding.

 “Um, I really don’t want to interrupt,” Tikki began. “But we really should leave this location. It’s only a matter of time before emergency personnel arrive. Your identities could be compromised.”

Adrien looked subdued. “Let’s get back to this later?”

Marinette merely nodded.

“Plagg, claws out!” Adrien called out.

Plagg was about to finish the last cut of cheese, rind and all. He quickly dropped it and gave a desperate cry as he was sucked back into the ring.

“Do you need a ride?” Chat Noir said, now leaning on his baton.

“Silly kitty,” Marinette said, motioning to her earrings. “I can make do on my own, thank you very much.”

“It’s an open invitation,” he said, winking.

Marinette nearly choked. “Thanks. Uh, maybe later? Wait, no, I didn’t mean it like that, I just… ugh. I’m not very good at this thing.” She sighed.

 _Stay focused_! Her mind yelled at her.

“I’m not finished here yet. There is one quick thing I need to do,” Marinette said, taking in a long breath.

 “Tikki, spots on!”

By now she could hear voices approaching them, struggling to open the Press Room’s door.

“Miraculous Ladybug!” she said, throwing her yoyo in the air. The ground materialized around her in a flurry of ladybugs. Shelves were righted, and the table was put back in place.

She heard the gasps from the people just outside the room, and the confusion when they opened the door and saw a completely standard room.

The only remaining evidence of what went on in that room was Private Eye’s sword, now sitting in its sheath on the table.

Chat Noir looked at it. The craftsmanship was superb. It was also incredibly familiar. Where had he seen it before?

“Bug out!” Ladybug said, as people flooded into the room.

Chat Noir was quickly jarred back to reality, and gave a short wave to the people as they rushed in.

***

Tristian sank into the bus bench, his shoulders slouching.

He did not want to go back home quite so soon. _Could_ he even go home? It’s not like his mother knew he was akumatized. Things had been fine at first, but that was because he hadn’t actually done anything. But now he had.

 _Shit_ , Tristian thought. _I didn’t return the sword._

Hawk Moth had given it to him; rather, he instructed Tristian as to where to find it. What would he do if he found out that he had lost it? Whenever Hawk Moth spoke, Tristian felt his mind go blank and his vision tunneled exactly where Hawk Moth needed it to be.

 _Good evening, Private Eye,_ Hawk Moth said.

Tristian nearly bolted out of his seat. It was almost like merely thinking about the man woke him up.

“Before you say anything: I forgot the sword.” He must look crazy right now, sitting on a bus bench, muttering to himself. He crossed his arms.

_We will get to that later. I need you to make a delivery for me._

“Of course,” Tristian said, feeling his will crumble before Hawk Moth’s. “Just point me to where you want to go.”

***

Ladybug and Chat Noir stopped on a rooftop just short of the Place des Vosges. Ladybug could see the fountain from where she stood—the very same fountain she had once hid in with Adrien, the very same person who nimbly landed beside her.

Before anything, she needed to warn Chat Noir.

             “Chat, Private Eye knows who I am. If Private Eye knows, then doubtless Hawk Moth does, as well.” She sighed. “You’re not safe with me—”  

            Chat Noir took her hand. “I said it earlier. I won’t leave you. _Especially_ if Hawk Moth knows your identity.” He squeezed it. His voice was resolute. She wouldn’t win this argument.

He presented her with a rose.

            “Where’d you get the rose?” she asked, gingerly taking it.

            “I nabbed it from a bush.”

            “What? You thief,” Ladybug said.

            “I’ll gladly take community service as my punishment,” he said. “Especially if it involves saving all of Paris with the girl of my dreams.”

            Ladybug’s cheeks started to warm. She had to do it. She had to tell him, to confirm what he likely already suspected. With her mask on, she felt like she could do it.

“Actually, can I tell you a secret?” she asked, motioning for him to come closer.

He raised his eyebrows in curiosity and sidled up to her.

“Is it that you have photographs of me under your bed?” Chat Noir gave a mischievous smile.  

“Umm. Yeah. And you probably know the reason why,” Marinette got quieter.

“Of course. I believe you said that it was because you like fashion, right?” Chat Noir leaned closer.

 _He’s going to make me say it, isn’t he?_ Ladybug thought to herself.

Ladybug grew silent. She looked away, her heart hammering in her chest. She squared her shoulders. She was Ladybug. She got this.

“What’s the matter, my—”

She turned back midsentence and put her finger to his lips to quiet him. He immediately quieted, cat eyes wide and curious. She met his stare and then slowly pulled her hand away.

Chat Noir held perfectly still, very aware of how close Ladybug stood. Grinning, she turned her face so her lips were close to his, waiting. He could feel her breath on his skin, soft and warm. Was she _teasing_ him? Was she going to kiss him? Could he kiss her? He was transfixed, completely lost under her spell. Hawk Moth could’ve walked by and he would’ve done nothing.

He was always used to being the one doing the teasing. He had no idea how to handle being on the other side.

She just barely touched his lips to his, in such a tender way that made Chat Noir’s mind stop. It was soft, and feather light, just a tad insecure. Out of pure instinct, he gently pulled her in, lightly touching the small of her back and deepening the kiss.

How long had it been? How could something feel so short and so long? How could quenching his thirst still leave him desperately thirsty? His other hand held her chin just so. When did he do that?

And when her lips gave way under his, he fell in further, bridging the final gap between the two.

Ladybug backed away, much too soon, Chat Noir thought. But now her face was unmistakably red, lips just slightly swollen. He wanted her.

She was out of breath. When she met Chat Noir’s curious look, she averted her eyes.

“Sorry, I’m just a little new to this,” she said, pushing some hair out of her eyes.

“I can’t say I’m an expert, either,” Chat Noir said, hand still loosely at Ladybug’s waist.

 “Really?” Ladybug said, surprise apparent in her eyes.

Now it was his turn to blush. “I know as Chat Noir I don’t really give off that vibe. But at least when I have the mask on, I feel like I can.  You can’t see the blushing, for one thing, and since the suit is black, sweat won’t show.”

Ladybug laughed. It came out higher than she expected it to. “Silly kitty. Well, if it makes any difference, I think you do quite well without the mask, as well.”

“If you think that, you should see me in swimsuit season.” He winked at her.

The brief image this conjured in Ladybug’s mind made her blush. She would very much like to see him in swimsuit season.

He leaned toward her, that familiar, mischievous smile of his practically glowing in the dark.

“Well, that’s too bad. Swimsuit season is still pretty far off,” Ladybug said, faking a sigh. The embarrassment nearly set on her immediately. Did she really say that? She almost immediately turned away.

“Oh?” Chat Noir practically purred.

Ladybug awkwardly coughed. “Oh, and the weather. That’s always something to look forward to.”

Chat Noir looked at the sky as he leaned on the balcony. They were both silent.

“Things really are looking up. I can’t say I’ve always looked forward to the future, but with you, I can,” he said.

Ladybug rested her back against the balcony so that she still faced Chat Noir.

            “I can relate. But I wish things turned out differently,” Ladybug said.

“What do you mean?” Chat Noir asked.

             “I never wanted my identity to be revealed this way,” she said. “I never wanted it to be revealed by a villain. Ever since Lady Wi-Fi, it’s always been present in my mind.”

               She paused for a moment. Chat Noir hesitated. Was she going to say more?

“And… well, this part is really embarrassing, so promise not to laugh,” she began again. She looked at Chat Noir and raised an eyebrow. He smiled back gently.

“I’ve always imagined some completely different, insanely magical way of confessing to you. Like with a poem, and then you meet me at a fountain… and we kiss. It’s stupid and so Hollywood, I know,” Ladybug said. She laughed softly, and let it subside into a sigh.

              Chat Noir leaned toward her, his eyes glued to her lips. “Let’s do it then. Let’s kiss by a fountain.”

Ladybug’s heart jolted in her chest. She felt her stomach give a flip.

“And if that’s still not perfect,” he started whispering, “we can confess on the Eiffel Tower. We can do it all over again—everything. I’ll pretend that I don’t know your secret identity, and you the same. We can kiss just as the Tower lights up. I’ll do it however many times you need to.”

Ladybug froze. Was he being serious?

Chat Noir motioned to the fountain in the park below.

“After you,” he said.

Ladybug looked back at him.

“Give me a minute,” she answered, looking carefully about her.

“Spots off,” she said, and her costume disappeared in a flourish. Tikki reappeared, and looked about curiously.

She looked between her and Chat Noir, before narrowing her eyes in understanding, and went into Marinette’s purse.  

Chat Noir held onto Marinette and launched his baton forward. She held on tight, and put her head close to his neck.

He landed next to the fountain, and sat Marinette down on its edge.

She looked at her reflection in the water, and brushed back her hair. She could feel Chat Noir’s eyes on her, and turned to meet him.

“Hi,” Marinette nearly squeaked. What was up with that? Why had her throat constricted so? She had been doing so well earlier!

“If we are going to re-do this, can I add something?” Chat Noir asked.

Marinette nodded slowly. What? What was he going to do?

Chat Noir moved closer to Marinette, and took her hands in his.

“Claws in,” Chat Noir said.

His blonde hair parted itself nicely again, and the costume came off in one big rush. Plagg floated out, looking confused.

“Eh, what’s this?” Plagg started, looking at their clasped hands. “Ugh! Public displays of affection? I need cheese!”

Plagg dashed about. He spotted the trash can by the bench. “Oh sweet relief,” he said, plunging amongst the rubbish.  

Adrien shrugged. Marinette held back a laugh.

“Hey, Marinette?” he said, drawing her attention back to him. She turned to look at him.

He kissed her lips, gently and chaste at first, taking his time. She was quick to respond, turning her head to deepen the kiss. Suddenly there was nothing in her mind, all of her being completely absorbed in this kiss, in deepening it, and getting closer.

His lips felt swollen and numb, clumsy with their newfound purpose.

The kiss was over far too quick, he thought.

Marinette looked at him and smiled. Adrien was enchanted all over again: her eyes lit up when looking at him; the very same determined, passionate stare that had ensnared him so completely and made his thoughts turn to mush.

“I want to ask you something; not as Chat Noir or a superhero, but as simply me, Adrien,” he began.

Marinette was blushing again. She straightened her posture in anticipation and nodded for him to go on.

Adrien was just about to speak when somebody showed up, their steps soft on the wet grass.

“Well, this is awkward,” the voice said.


	5. A Simple Demand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry that the formatting sucks. I swear I know how to indent paragraphs. AO3 eats my formatting and pukes out this weird mess of unintentional free verse.

Chapter 5: A Simple Demand  
Private Eye stepped into the light from the street lamp, his shadow stretching towards Marinette and Adrien.  
Adrien instantly stood up, pushing Marinette behind him.  
“Wow, slow down there,” he said, nonchalantly. He looked over Adrien’s shoulder, towards Marinette, who comfortably stared him down.  
“I didn’t come here to fight. If I had, wouldn’t it be smarter to ambush you two or something instead of pretty much announcing my arrival?”  
Adrien crossed his arms.  
How much had Private Eye overheard? Did he know who Adrien really was?  
“I’m not sure what I interrupted,” Private Eye said. “To be honest, I always thought Ladybug had a thing for Chat Noir,” he finished, nodding towards Marinette.  
Marinette looked away. She couldn’t let him see her blush.  
“What do you want?” Adrien asked.  
“Actually, I was going to drop off this letter.” He took the letter out of the small pocket in his vest and waved it in the air. “It’s a letter for Ladybug.”  
Marinette stood up, and put a hand on Adrien’s shoulder. He looked at her with concern in his eyes.  
“I’ll take it,” she said, reaching out for it. Her identity was no longer at stake. She had to make sure that Adrien’s was protected at all costs.  
“What does it say?” Adrien asked Private Eye.  
“I don’t know. I didn’t write it,” Private Eye replied.  
“You didn’t write it?” Adrien said, hesitating.  
“No. How could I have? A week ago I was blind. I was never taught how to read conventional lettering,” he said, shrugging.  
“Oh, right. Sorry. I forgot about that part.”  
Private Eye shrugged. “Same.”  
“Um, right,” Adrien said, his eyes glued to the envelope in Marinette’s hand.  
Marinette looked closely at the handwriting on the envelope. It was neat and straightforward, written in all caps with a rushed hand.  
“Is this from Hawk Moth?” Marinette asked Private Eye.  
“None other,” he answered.  
Marinette began reading aloud.  
“Ms. Dupain-Cheng, I send my apologies for not meeting you in person, but I hope the messenger I’ve sent is just as pleasant,” she began, looking at Private Eye, who merely shrugged.  
“I would rather get this issue settled with the least amount of mess as possible, so I’m offering you an easier alternative: if you can give me—” she immediately stopped reading aloud when she came across Chat Noir’s name. She had to consciously contain her shock. She hurriedly scanned the rest of the text, her eyes skipping words entirely.  
If you give me Chat Noir’s miraculous, I will not ask you for your own. If you are not willing to oblige me, then I cannot guarantee the safety of Adrien Agreste, she silently read, her pulse quickening.  
There was a date and an address written on the paper: three days from now at the Trocadero.  
Adrien tried to sneak a peek at the text on the letter, but she folded it closed. She felt herself go cold. Hawk Moth did his research. How else could he have known about her feelings for Adrien?  
“Well? What else does it say?” Adrien asked, moving closer, reaching out for the folded paper.  
“Just the same, silly usual. ‘Give me your miraculous’ thing. A waste of time, actually,” Marinette said, deliberately keeping her face neutral.  
What was Hawk Moth trying to accomplish by sending a letter? He could just as easily spoken through Private Eye as he did most of his akumatized pawns. And why was he only asking for Chat Noir’s miraculous?  
“Well then, I’ll be off,” Tristian said. “I don’t think there’s anything else for me here.”  
“You’re not going to try to take her miraculous?” Adrien asked.  
“No. Sorry to disappoint you, but I’m tuckered out.” He said it with a smile, but one that looked weary.  
Private Eye looked at Marinette one final time before turning and walking away. He didn’t go invisible. They watched him till he disappeared around the corner.  
“I don’t understand him,” Adrien said. He looked wistfully back at the fountain.  
Marinette’s mind was buzzing. Where had Private Eye gotten the note? Did that mean he had contacted Hawk Moth at some point? Did he then know where Hawk Moth lived? Perhaps even his secret identity? None of Hawk Moth’s other akumatized victims had that kind of access.  
Adrien stood directly behind Marinette, his hands on her shoulders, peering into the contents of the partially folded letter.  
She could feel his warm breath against her collarbone. It was hard not to get distracted, but now more than ever, she needed to keep her cool.  
I can’t tell him, Marinette thought. If I tell him, I know he will put himself in danger.  
She remembered when she nearly lost Chat Noir—Adrien—when Timebreaker grabbed him and he disappeared. He did not hesitate to throw himself away.  
He once even handed her his miraculous when they were trapped in that shipping container by the Dark Owl. He was always so willing to use himself as a sacrifice. She absolutely could not let that happen.  
Even if meant keeping a secret from the boy she loved.  
“What did the rest of the letter say?” Adrien asked, breaking through her thoughts.  
She turned slightly away, so as to hide the content of the letter.  
“My family is in danger, Adrien,” she whispered. “With my identity compromised, Hawk Moth said that he will go after those I’m close to.”  
She looked directly into his eyes. “That means you’re in danger,” she said. “Not as Chat Noir, but as yourself, Adrien.”  
“But nobody knows about us,” Adrien said. He walked behind her and held her in a loose embrace. She leaned against him, letter folded neatly across her chest.  
“You’re still a target, Adrien.”  
“Is that what Hawk Moth said in that letter?” Adrien laughed, and he gave her a quick squeeze.  
“Pretty much. You’re in danger. Hawk Moth knows what you mean to me,” she answered.  
Adrien kissed the top of her head and hugged her tighter.  
“I’ll be fine. Have you seen my house? The security system is the only one of its kind. Plus, I am Chat Noir, remember? If I’m not in my trendy fortress, then I’ve got a baton and the ability to destroy anything.”  
She looked away, trying to hide the fear in her eyes.  
Adrien slid a hand around Marinette’s waist. His touch on the small of her back felt electric. She let out the breath that she had been inadvertently holding.  
“I will protect your family. Cat’s honor,” he said, winking. “I will make sure that nothing happens to you or your family.”  
How did he do it? How did he manage to quell the panic she felt rising in her body?  
“Your father will notice if you’re not around,” Marinette said in a hushed voice.  
“He won’t notice. He seldom even notices when I actually am around,” he replied. “He has to schedule in father-son time and that must be done far in advance. And subject to cancellation.” He shrugged. “Sometimes I wonder if there is something wrong with me, something that makes me unlovable.”  
“I’m sorry,” Marinette began. “That he treats you that way. You deserve so much more. But if it makes you feel better, I know that your father loves you to pieces. He thinks you’re perfect. I know because he told me once.”  
She paused to collect her thoughts. “There is nothing wrong with you. And for the record, you are perfectly lovable.”  
I would know, she thought. I love you.  
Adrien did not reply. Instead, he kissed the top of Marinette’s head again, and she pressed against him, crinkling the letter in her tight fist, looking up at him through her bangs. He met her stare and smirked.  
Her worries were interrupted. He distracted her with a kiss on the lips—one that caught her off guard, one she couldn’t prepare for, and as soon as his lips were there, they were gone, leaving her chest feeling heavy, desperate and suddenly needy.  
The fatigue from the long day landed heavy on her shoulders. She was slowing down.  
“Bed time,” she said, looking up towards her balcony.  
“Allow me,” Adrien replied. He summonsed a disheveled Plagg and transformed right before her.  
Marinette held back a laugh. “Do you always do that when you transform? You know, flex your claws and pose like that?”  
“Um, possibly,” he said, looking away sheepishly, before looking back at her with a soft smile.  
He held out his arms and she leaned against him, her face tucked close to his neck.  
He launched up to her balcony and gingerly helped her down. She stood before him, her face illuminated by the glow of the string of lights.  
“Thank you for the ride,” Marinette said, leaning over the railing. He stood slightly beneath her, on an eave.  
“Good night, my princess.”  
He raised his head and gave her the softest of kisses, just a feathering of the lips. She returned it, tracing his jawline.  
“Good night, my sweet prince.”  
And with that, Marinette retreated into the hatch. Chat Noir waited until he heard it click safely shut, before he turned away.  
He grabbed his baton, ready to use it to launch himself to the next roof, when a small white ball of something rolled before him, nearly reaching the balcony’s ledge.  
He reached to grab it before it fell.  
It was a crumpled piece of paper. He opened it, slowly flattening the page and bringing it closer to a string light.  
It was the letter from Hawk Moth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the little Aladdin vibe I put in there. 
> 
> I have such a hard time editing my own work. I get to the point where I pretty much rewrite what I just spent a bunch of time writing, and naturally, I will have to go and edit the new stuff I wrote. So you see this infinite loop.... this is my problem.... I struggle for my art....
> 
> I apologize for switching between names. I generally hold myself to the rule that if they are transformed, I will use their super hero names. As for villains... I've been really inconsistent with that. I think I will stick with Private Eye henceforth.


	6. Dominoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2 Days till D-day. The dominoes are being put in place and the clock is ticking. But first, class. And before that, breakfast. Our akumatized villain comes across a weird side effect of his power and runs into a wall. And there's some character building. (I swear there is a reason for it; it will make sense in the end.)

Chapter 6: Tricks

            Tristian had managed to get Hawk Moth’s sword back by invisibly tailing the cleaning crew around the hospital.  When they reached the Press Room, he silently took the sword and hurried away.

He now walked on the dark sidewalks, through intermittent streetlights, holding the sheathed sword under his right arm, carefully keeping it invisible. It was late at night, and he knew that if he didn’t come home soon, his mother would call the police.

A light was on in the living room. His mother was still awake. He could not walk into his home with a sword and not draw attention, so he hid it behind a potted plant, still invisible to others, and softly knocked on his front door.

His mother answered the door, still wearing her day clothes, her iPad held to her waist.

“You’re late. Where were you?” his mother asked.

 _I went to deliver a letter for a magical terrorist,_ he thought.

            “Sorry, I got lost. Still figuring out the streets here. I would have called, but my phone is still out of commission.” He set his jacket on a coat rack and then took off his shoes.

“We need to get you a new phone. I was so worried when I couldn’t find you after the news conference,” his mother replied.

“I’m sorry.”

She sighed. “I never thought that a day like this would happen: you coming home, late at night, all by yourself, like a typical teenage boy sneaking out with friends. I should be mad. But honestly, I’m happy.”

She paused. “But I was still very anxious. Don’t do that again.”

She shut the door behind him, and he gave her a hug. “I won’t do it again.”

She squeezed his shoulders. “Off to bed. You have a big day tomorrow.”

Tristian paused. He couldn’t think of any plans.

“Your father is coming home tomorrow to visit,” she said.

That made Tristian pause. He had never actually _seen_ his father, not in person, not with his newfound eyesight. But why was he coming now?

It was as if his mother read his thoughts. “He heard about your recovery, and thought that he would visit you. He will be bringing Madeline,” she said. “And Patricia.”

Madeline was his half-sister. Patricia was his step-mother, and together they were his father’s _new_ family. His _old_ family fell apart several years after Tristian was born.

And it was Tristian’s fault. He knew it. He was an invalid, a drain on his father’s resources, a stain in his perfect family. That’s why his father had left, and started a new family.

The discomfort, anger, and frustration he felt surged. Perhaps it was because he was already akumatized, but his eyesight flickered for a scary moment before he felt a rush of new energy, warm and tingling, flush through his body.

He quickly turned away, and walked towards his room. He walked into his door, and awkwardly staggered back.

_What the--?_

The door to his room was closed, but if he squinted, he could see through the door, through his wall, even.

“Are you okay, Tris?” his mother called out.

“Completely fine,” he lied, shaking with his newfound power. “Just really tired.”

He rubbed his eyes. Without a doubt, he could see through the walls, as if there was only a gauzy curtain between them.  

***

Marinette was late. She practically fell down the stairs before grabbing a hot croissant as it was set out to cool. She inhaled sharply when she felt the burn bite into her skin.

She pushed open the bakery door, jingling its soft bell, before walking straight into Adrien.

“Hi Marinette,” he said.

She yelped, and nearly dropped the croissant. Adrien steadied her.

“Sorry. I just wasn’t expecting you there,” she said.

“I probably should have said something before. I just wanted to walk with you,” he said.

“That’s really sweet,” she replied, frantically flicking away flakey crumbs from her jacket. Some had landed onto the history book she held precariously to her chest.

“I can carry your book for you, if you like,” he said.

She handed him her croissant, and he merely stared at her hand.

“Are you offering me the croissant or did you mean to give me the book and just get your left and right hands mixed up?”

“Both?” she said, her voice lilting up a pitch at the end.

He laughed. “You’re really funny, Marinette.” He paused, and looked her directly in the eyes. “I like that in a girl.”

“Wow. How do you do that?” she said.

“What?” he said, now holding onto her history book.

“ _Charm_. It seems to come so naturally,” she answered, and thought for a moment. “Wait—don’t answer that. I realize now that pretty much everything you say will charm me.”

“Hawk Moth,” he said quickly.

“What? Where?” Marinette froze, and Adrien very nearly ran into her.

“I was just proving that not everything I say is charming,” he replied, now playfully bumping into her.

“And it also works as a good transition to what I think we need to talk about,” he said. She hurriedly pressed the button to cross the street.

“Oh, right. That,” she said.

That morning she could not find the letter that Private Eye had delivered. She could’ve sworn she had put it in her purse, but Tikki said that she never saw it there.

She started blabbering.

“I’ve been thinking about it. But you can absolutely not get involved. He is using you as leverage, and—” her words petered out into thoughts. _And he also wants me to reveal your identity, and I will not be having any of your self-sacrificing BS…_

“Wait, Marinette,” he said, pulling her out of her thoughts.

“We are a team. Ladybug and Chat Noir. And now Marinette and Adrien. We have to work together,” he said, looking straight into Marinette’s eyes.

_Marinette and Adrien._

He had said it without any pause or second thought. They were a team, even without their masks.

The crosswalk was now flashing for them to cross, but Marinette stood still.

“Look… I don’t want to keep secrets from you. But please hear me out,” she said.

Adrien lead her to a bench, and they both sat down.

“The letter said that I was to hand over your miraculous. Not necessarily mine, but _yours_. Which is sort of weird on its own, but maybe not that weird since I’m sure there is more to his plan than what I can even figure out.” Rambling. Was she rambling? She swallowed hard.

Adrien reached into his pocket and pulled out the letter, now neatly folded into a square.

“I found it on the balcony after I dropped you off,” he said.

Marinette bit her lip.

“Please don’t put yourself in danger. I don’t think you get it. You don’t value yourself as much as others do,” she said.

Adrien was silent, so Marinette nervously met his gaze.

“I think I’m beginning to understand, a little,” he said, smiling. There was truth to what she was saying. He had to be careful. If something happened to him, Marinette would be by herself. Sure, she could handle it. But why expose her to that pain?

“So, some ground rules. You absolutely cannot use yourself as leverage. That means you cannot sacrifice yourself and let yourself be ‘captured’ or whatever—”

Adrien blinked. Why hadn’t he thought of that? It was a brilliant idea, since he was the collateral anyway. And then Hawk Moth would take him to his hideout, or at least one of his hideouts, and perhaps he could ascertain his identity there.

“Wait… did I just give you this idea?” Marinette asked, holding her head in her hands, slumped forward. “Oh no.”

She quickly sat up, startling Adrien.

“Absolutely. Not.” She gripped her hands tightly on her knees.

“It’s kind of a good idea, though,” he answered. “It’s not like he could know that he would literally be inviting Chat Noir to his lair. Or house. Honestly, I’m not sure how he lives.”

“But if you transform to Chat Noir there, Hawk Moth is bound to notice. I’m sure he will have the place very secured; so even if you manage to transform and get out, your identity will be compromised.”

“You routinely de-transform behind your chimney,” he answered.

Marinette could feel her forehead and cheeks heat up, so she quickly looked away and took a deep breath.

“At least let’s try my plan first,” she said.

Adrien drummed his hands on her history textbook that he still held. “Okay.”

Marinette looked down, eyeing her textbook, realization dawning. Adrien caught her panicked look.

“We were supposed to be somewhere, weren’t we?”

***

Adrien knocked on the door. It was non-descript, hidden down a long hallway. He stood back and waited.

A short Chinese man answered the door.

“Hello, Master—I mean, Mr. Chan,” Adrien quickly corrected.

Master Fu only smiled.

“Our mutual friend sent me here,” he said quietly. He looked around and then straightened up. The only one following him was his bodyguard. But why did he feel so _watched_?

“You are always welcome here, Adrien,” Master Fu said simply.

“Thank you for helping me with my Chinese homework at the last minute,” Adrien said. “It’s been a real challenge, so I am really looking forward to your, uh, helping me. With the Chinese homework, of course,” he added.

His bodyguard was well out of earshot by now; he could drop the ruse.

Master Fu closed the door behind them.

“Ladybug could not come here on her own?” Master Fu asked, as he walked into his kitchen to set up a pot of tea.

“Her identity has been compromised,” he said. “Hawk Moth knows who she is.”

Master Fu nearly dropped the kettle, but quickly righted himself.

“Why wasn’t I notified about this sooner?”

“Marinette is likely being watched right now. Oh, and the previous akumatized villain is still about. He is hard to spot and sneaky,” Adrien said.

“Marinette. So you know. It has all come to light. The tiles are all on the table,” Master Fu said with a deep sigh.

Wayyz appeared from behind the screen. “Master, I believe the saying is, ‘The cards are on the table.’ Not tiles.”

“That is what I said,” Master Fu said, and turned back to Adrien. “How strong would you like your tea? I have a feeling that this is going to be a long conversation.”

Plagg whirled out of Adrien’s shirt.

“Long conversation? Please no! It’s already taking long enough,” he said. “Adrien, just get to the point.”

He bobbed over towards the kitchen and flew into the refrigerator.

“Plagg, really now,” Adrien chastised.

“Ugh! This is why I hate coming here,” Plagg said, his voice muffled from within the fridge. “Master Fu doesn’t eat cheese.”

“Cheese is not part of a traditional Eastern diet, Plagg. How else do you think I’ve been able to live to 186?”

“What is the point in living so long if you do not eat cheese?” Plagg wailed, still from deep within the fridge. There was a clattering noise from within and Plagg emerged looking a little wet.

“I’ll get straight to it,” Adrien said, abruptly cutting off Plagg’s dramatic play for attention.

“We need to borrow the fox miraculous,” he said.


End file.
